Ache of a Beating Heart

The next day, I did not wake up at five. Last night tiredness washed over me so bad that even after Leo splashed the bucket of water over me, it was still hard for me to keep my eyes open.

'Get up, Whiney,' he said. 'You've got five minutes.'

I groaned and refrained myself to go back to the cold and wet bed. I might've had crush on him before but now, I hated him. If there could be a stronger word than hate, then I did that.

'Five minutes!' Leo yelled and I dragged myself out of the bed. Each and every muscle of me hurt. I couldn't even walk and the thought of doing that again made me want to puke. I was half way going to my cupboard when Leo came back again. 'We are getting late. What are you doing?'

'Trying to do what you have assigned me.'

He, frustrated, rolled his eyes and closed the door. With half-opened eyes, I picked out the outfit. Resting my head against the cupboard, I even began taking a nap until Leo banged on the door that I immediately woke up and rushed to get ready.

I descended downstairs rubbing my eyes for they stung with sleep. Either I was way too sleepy or I was blind that I missed a step. It was the mini heart attack that made me miss one more step and I crashed into someone who was going up. I tried to hold the railing rather I ended up holding that person's shirt and we both fell down on the ground. I was safe. I was on the top.

The person beneath me groaned. I composed and picked myself up, only to find out it was Jake whom I fell over. 'Oh damn,' I said and outstretched my hand, 'are you okay?'

'OH, DAMN!' Austin came up and took the picture. 'Bombastic.'

'Shut up, Aust' Jake got up. 'You okay?'

I nodded and opened my mouth to ask him to help me with this training shit with Leo but the words didn't come out as Leo himself did. 'How many times would I have to ask you to hurry?' And his commanding tone was back.

He didn't even give me a second and dragged me out. 'What is wrong with you?' I snatched my arm out of his grip. 'Why are you so rude?!'

'I have asked you to be ready at sharp five. We are so late.'

'So what?'

'What do you mean by "so what"? You are going to be agent and the first thing you need is to be prompt.'

'It is just five minutes,' he snapped his head to me, those eyes turning dark with fury and I shut my mouth.

He began jogging and I followed suit. We ran all the way to the "DRILLER'S AREA". We had a breakfast and Leo gave me further training on gun and made me exercise on the machine. Before leaving, he gave me a diet plan asking—no— /commanding/ me to follow it. I only took it. 'Faster,' he said while we were running back.

'I am,' I was not really. Exhaustion and pain painted each of my limb that even walking became difficult. But Leo, he didn't care. He kept on asking me to increase my pace, made me run for a few miles but I would stop or bend down to catch my breath. Even the shoes seemed uncomfortable to be worn.

The moment we reached home, I breathed a sigh of relief and rushed up to my room to crash on my bed. The bed was softer than the feather and relaxing than a massage. My eyelids were so droopy that I think I might've dozed off. Until the door was knocked, then banged, and ultimately opened. I opened my one eye to see it was Jake. 'You haven't even taken your shoes off,' he said.

'I don't need to, I replied, my voice drowning with the sleep.

'We need to go, Elsa,' I didn't listen him. I had slipped into sleep again. 'Elsa?' He shook me, 'can you hear me?'

'No,'

'We need to go,' he said, 'Your Mom is waiting for you.'

---

It was the same door with the same canvas on which the same name was written. It did not change. I didn't even know why I wanted it to change either. It had been only three weeks and I was expecting what? To never see this day? To run away? Hide? Fade out? Or to simply pretend I don't care?

Or, did I?

'Go on,' Jake encouraged me. I closed my eyes. Every ounce of sleep disappeared from my eyes. 'She is waiting.'

'I don't want to,' I said. 'I don't want to meet her, Jake.'

'You'd have to, Elsa. She is the boss. You are the employ. You can't reject her orders.'

'But ...' I stepped back. /"I am your mother."/

I clutched my hand into a fist.

/"Believe it or not, Elsa. I am your mother"/

I squeezed my eyes shut. Suddenly, the air began withdrawing from my body. It was hard to breathe. Hard to see.

But did I have any option? Could I run away? Far away from this misery? No. I could not. And so I entered the room—a new hell for me.

She was working on her laptop when I entered. Spectacles rested on the bridge of her nose that she took off as soon as she saw me.

She gave me a smile.

I did not.

She got up to meet me.

I did not.

She seemed my mother.

But she was not.

'Elsa, sweetie,' She said. 'How are you?'

'As I was after your death,' I replied with a slow yet plain voice. The kind of tone Leo would adopt whenever he would want me to obey him. I called it the "poisoned tone".

'Please, can you sit?'

'If I do, will you explain me why you did what you did?'

'I am afraid—

'—then I won't.' I said. I had no idea why I felt so cold around her. Why I hated her so much. No, actually, I knew why. It was the rush of memories that haunted me for ten years that made me hate her. The storm of misery with which I would hug and cry myself to sleep. The loneliness that emptied me. Sucking the marrow of life from inside of me.

'We have met after so many years,' her voice lowered to the motherly tone, 'I thought you would act contrast to how you are behaving right now.'

'Why would you think that? Why would you think that I would come and hug my mother who faked her own death and left me to live in hell. How can you expect that—

'Elsa—

'—All those years, I was so lonely. Do you know how much does it stung to have the worst day in school and you come back only to find a mad father throwing knives at the door and a vacant house?' I wanted to shout but I could not. It was the torment from all those years that moulded itself into tears and began rolling down my cheeks. It was the ache of the beating heart that would sometimes forget to even beat. It was what moufles my voice.

It was the empty me, crying at the complete her.

'I wanted you so bad, mum,' I sobbed, 'but ... but you weren't just there. I would yell for you at nights, scream for you, but no one was there to hug me, soothe me. No one!'

She was crying but I could not see her tears. I was only seeing myself in her and I hated it. 'So don't call yourself my mother if you can't justify for your actions.'

'It was all for your own good,'

'What good did it have? I was ridiculed. Teased. Bullied. Tormented. Tortured. Ignored. Tossed away like a piece of garbage because suddenly, after Marie Stone's death, I was no one. Tell me,' My lips quivered, 'what good did it have?'

'Just wait for a few months, Elsa. You will come to know. I promise you will.'

'Why can't you tell me right now?'

'You won't be able to take it.'

'I have borne the ugliest side of life. I can.' I wanted her to tell me. To convince me that she did not hurt me intentionally. I still loved her, I knew I did and I wanted her to let me love her, hug her but there was this barrier of truth and lies that needed to be dismantled. And only she could do it. But she did not.

'No,' she said, 'you can't.'

I did not even think as I said, 'I hate you, mum,'

She did not gasp. Did not seem shocked. She only halted her breathing as if to let the silence interpret the words to some other meaning.

I stayed quiet as I saw her body bleeding. I knew it were my words that assaulted her and made her crumble to the ground. Despite the make up she wore, beneath the layers of coats, I could see the shattered pieces of her. And it hurt me that I was responsible for it. After ten years, I met my mother. And I torn her apart in just a few minutes.

Just like she did.

The room began shrinking. I could not bear it. I immediately rushed out of the room.

/"your mother"/

Tears retreated back to me. To display my fragility in front of the whole office. That Marie Stone's daughter is weak.

She was not my mother.

And I was not her daughter.

Yet our words still managed to slaughter.

I doubled over and coughed. 'Are you okay?' Jake, who was waiting outside, asked me but I clutched my chest. 'Elsa, what happened?'

'I need ...' I took a breath, 'I need ...' I grabbed the wall to steady myself, 'air, Jake.'

He didn't even wait a second but held me from my waist and took me outside. The intensity of the gazes of the workers shrunken me to a least size, as if they heard, not the conversation, or fight, but the voices inside us.

I was unable to keep myself steady. There was this rush of anger, frustration, regret, resentment, animosity and the worst one: memories.

'Do you feel better?' Jake asked.

'Could you bring me a glass of water?' He thought through but ultimately nodded and set off to fetch it.

I saw him retreating in the building and the moment he disappeared, I ran away.

I ran at the end of the street, took a turn, another one, my breath hitched, my legs burnt /"you won't be able to"/. Another turn. /"it was all for your own good"/ I looked behind and could hear voices searching for me /"your mother"/ I looked behind me again but didn't really see. I had no idea where I was running to. How I was going to escape this misery. /"I promise"/ I wanted to end this. These voices that were eating me alive. /"caged blackbird with broken wings"/

'Elsa!' I stopped. It was then I heard the honk of a truck coming in my direction.

It horned. Again and again.

I could've moved.

Could've ran away.

But I did not.